IRLF 


STORY  OF  A  BEI 


o 

CM 


.toga,  Cal.  June,  1885. 

t    the    solicitation  of  many    Mends  I 
e  published  a  small  collection  of  my 

poems  under  the  title  of  "THE  STORY  OF  A 

BELL,  AND  OTHER  POEMS." 

Price  by  mail  neatly  bound  in  cloth,  50cts. 
In  attractive  paper  covers,  25cts. 

Paper  money  may  be  sent  by  mail  at  my 
risk.  When  not  convenient  to  procure  bank 
bills,    Draft  or  Post  Office  orders,  postage 
stamps    may  be  sent. 

Having  timidly  launched  my  little  bark 
so  late  in  the  day  I  hope  my  friends  may 
lend  a  hand  for  a  prosperous  v  oyage. 

Address,  G.    W.    MC  Grew,      Saratoga 
Santa  Clara  Co.,  California. 


STORY  OF  A  BELL 


OTHER    POEMS 


-BY  — 

G.  W.  McGRRW, 

SARATOGA,  CAL. 


SAX    .JO.SK,  CAL,: 
TIMKS-.MKKCTKY  STKAM  BOOK  ANT>  JOB   PRINT. 

1885. 


PAGE. 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BELL,  PART  I 3 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BELL,  PART  II 6 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BEL.L,,  PART  III 12 

DEDICATORY  HYMN „ 17 

t,OS  G-ATOS , ,„ 19 

THIRTY-FIFTH  WEDDING  ANNIVERSARY 33 

TWILIGHT  MUSING 2tf 

OOING-  BLIND 2$ 

OUR  OLD  OAK  TREE 30 

THE  AUTUMN  TIME  HAS   COME 34 

TO  MY  WIFE 37 

SET  ASIDE  38 

THREE  SCORE  AND   TEN 41 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  BOULDER 43 

LINES  WRITTEN  IN    A  LADY'S   ALBUM 44 

MY   SISTER'S   GRAVE 46 

PARTING  WORDS...  48 


461 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


dltc  Ktotij'of  a  Bci'l 


PART   I.? 

tlTTINCI  at  my  chamber  window, 
Basking  in  the  sunbeams  bright, 
•*  Comew there  through  the  open  easement, 

On  the  south  wind  soft  and  light. 
Mellow  notes  of  distant  music, 
As  the  zephyrs  rise  and  swell, 
And  my  heart  throbs  as  I  listen 
To  the  music  of  mv  bell. 

Would  you  know  why  thus  I  call  it? 

Why  to  me  it  is  so  dear  V 
Well,  just  take  a  seat  beside  me. 

And  my  story  you  shall  hear. 
On  the  porch,  if  you  prefer  it, 

And  will  help  to  move  my  chair; 
There  we'll  get  God's  blessed  sunshine, 

And  the  fresh,  sweet  morning  air. 

But  you  must  have  stores  of  patience, 

For  my  story  may  bs  long, 
For,  you  see,  I'm  old  and  feeble, 

And  my  brain  no  longer  strong. 
And,  besides,  it  ma}'  be  simple. 

With  but  little  thought  or  care- 
Childish  as  a  nursery  story, 

Or  an  infant's  evening  prayer. 

Written  in  March,  1SX\ 


THE    .STOAT    OF    A     BELL. 

When  tlie  sands  of  life  grow  scanty , 

And  the  stream  flows  weak  and  low, 
And  the  heart  again  grows  childish 

'Neath  the  almond's  wintry  blo^fe 
We  may  ask  and  claim  some  freedom 

From  exacting  rules  of  life, 
Or,  at  least,  may  make  such  pretest, 

To  escape  the,  critic's  knife. 

Wo  were  living  then  at  Larkhind— > 

When  ?    About  four  years  ago— 
That:lies  northward  from  LQH  Galon, 

Just  about  it  mile  or  w<>. 
There  we  built  a  modest  cottage, 

Hoping  yet  to  make  a  home; 
But,  nlas,  the  same  old  story — 

(rot  a  mortgage  for  a  dome. 

How  we  tjiled,  and  prayed,  and  struggled 

In  suspense  'twixt  hope  and  fear, 
Might  form  subject  fora  chapter, 

But  can  have  no  presence  here. 
One  day,  feeling  rather  lonesome, 

I  set  out  to  rind  a  man, 
Said  to  be  a  fellow  churchman- 

All  the  one  in  all  that  land. 
For  our  neighbors  then  were  strangers, 

In  the  region  where  we  dwelt. 
For  the  climate  was  so  lovely— 


THE    STORY    OF   A    HELL. 


It  was  called  the  great  warm  belt  — 
It  drew  many  from  the  cities 

Down  about  the  Golden  (late, 
Vnd  the  weary  health-home  seekers 

From  each  chilly  Northern  State. 

Found  my  man  out  in  the  garden, 

Busy  with  his  hoe  and  rake. 
When  I  told  him  all  my  errand, 

Smiling,  said,  "There's  some  mistake: 
I'm  a  Baptist,''  said  he,  leaning 

On  the  handle  of  his  hoe. 
"If  you're  hunting  Presbyterians 

I  can  tell  you  where  to  go.v 

Well  he  told  me,  and  I  found  them 

At  their  cottage  on  the  hill, 
Loyal,  loving,  ^Christian  people — 

Would  that  they  were  with  us  still; 
Hut  like  pilgrims  on  a  journey, 

We  can  tarry  but  a  night- 
Meet  to  love,  then  part  assunder 

Till  the  dawn  of  heavenly  light. 

Other  kindred  hearts  were  added, 

And  the  little  circle  grew, 
No  one  knowing  as  they  gathered 

Why  their  love  grew  strong  and  true. 
From  this  tiny  seed  of  mustard, 


TJIE    XTORY    Or    A     HKLL. 

Scarce  observed  by  human  eyes, 
Nurtured  by  the  clews  of  heaven, 
Lo!  we  see  a  church  arise. 

Not  without  consideration, 

And  much  thoughtful,  anxious  care, 
Lest  some  hasty  step  be  taken, 

Hut  with  fervent,  earnest  prayer 
That  the  King  who  reigns  in  Zion, 

Far  above  all  human  sight, 
Would  enlighten  by  His  spirit 

And  direct  our  steps  aright. 


PART   II,* 

WAS  a  little  band  of  pilgrims, 

Whose  hearts  the  Lord  impressed 
With  a  wish  to  walk  together 

To  the  country  of  the  blest. 
Some  lived  upon  the  mountain  side. 

Some  down  upon. the  plain. 
And  some  in  the  prettj-  village 

Midwa}'  between  the  twain. 

Hut  their  hearts  were  drawn  together 
With  cords  of  love  divine, 

Just  as  the  Master  promised  when 
He  left  the  world  behind. 


THE    8TORY    OF    .1 


So  they  loved  to  talk  together, 
As  they  journeyed  on  the  way, 

Of  the  glorious  heavenly  prospects 
That  just  before  them  lay. 

Hut,  like  sheep  without  a  shepherd, 

Ov  like  lambs  without  a  fold. 
This  little  band  of  pilgrims 

Were  scattered  in  the  cold. 
For  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow, 

Though  like  an  Eden  dressed, 
Is  not  the  land  of  Canaan, 

Where  weary  pilgrims  rest. 

So  they  prayed  to  have  a  shepherd. 

To  lead  them  on  the  way, 
By  the  quiet  crystal  waters, 

Where  greenest  pastures  lay. 
And  a  fold  enclosed  securely, 

Where  weary  feet  might  rest, 
And  a  place  for  sweet  communion 

With  friends  thev  loved  the  best, 

Now  just  how  this  prayer  was  answered 
I'll  tell,  if  you  would  know, 

For  it  happened  in  Los  Gatos, 
About  three  years  ago. 

First  of  all,  to  drop  the  figure, 
These  were  men,  like  you  and  me, 


THE    STORY    OF   A    BELL. 


And  it  was  a  church  they  wanted, 
Not  a  fold,  as  you  shall  seo. 

And  a  preacher  for  a  shepherd 

Though  I  like  that  name  the  best  — 
Bat  no  difference,  so  he  leads  us 

In  the  footsteps  of  the  blessed. 
So,  one  day,  when  met  together,  * 

In  a  rather  spacious  hall, 
Though  they  did  not  try  to  fill  it — 

Just  one  corner,  that  was  all — 

When  the  call  was  made  for  members, 
Twenty-three  rose  to  their  feet. 

So  the  little  church  was  started— 
Small,  but  organized  complete. 

Not  so  briefly  as  I've  told  you 
Were  the  service*  that  day, 

Hut  the  form  was  short  and  simple, 
So  I  heard  some  people  say. 

Now,  while  they're  waiting  in  the  hall, 

With  half  an  answered  prayer, 
Just  come  with  me,  on  Fancy's  wing, 

Up  through  the  Eastern  air. 
We  pause  not  in  our  magic  flight, 

Almost  from  sea  to  sea, 
Till  stern  New  England's  sternest  State 

Is  reached  by  you  and  me. 

Tho  Church  was  orj^ini/p  1  hv  lU'v.J.  .M.  N<>\vol  1,  July  .°,,  1SSI. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    BELL. 


On  bold  Mount  Mansfield's  rocky  crest, 

We  pause  awhile  to  scan 
The  glory  of  Green  Mountain  scenes 

Spread  out  on  every  hand. 
Huge  fir-clad  hills,  rock-ribbed  and  wild, 

Whose  every  clifted  gleu 
Reveals  some  glimpse  of  mountain  homes    - 

Fit  homes  for  stalwart  men. 

Hills  sloping  downward  to  the  vale, 

With  many  a  leafy  dell, 
Whose  hidden  springs,  cool  babbling  brooks 

Their  hiding  places  tell. 
Green  pasture  lands,  small,  well-kept  farms, 

Bright  thrift  on  every  side; 
The  church,  the  school,  the  busy  mill, 

New  England's  boast  and  pride. 

From  out  such  scenes  one  sweet  June  day. 

There  came  a  wedded  pair; 
I  know  not  how  it  came  about, 

Noi'  need  you  know  or  care. 
He,  the  young  preacher,  just  from  school, 

With  proof  enough  at  hand, 
And  she,  the  maiden  of  his  choice 

So  let  that  matter  stand. 

I  do  not  like  to  say  farewell 

To  home  and  kindred  dear; 
We'll  skip  the  parting,  you  and  I, 


10  THE    toTORY     01''     .1     JIKLL. 


Without  one  single  tear. 
When  Heated  in  the  flying  train, 

The  preacher  and  his  bride, 
Methinks  I  almost  hear  him  say, 

"  Now  for  that  promised  ride." 

That  day,  for  which  they  toiled  and  prayed. 

Through  yeirs  of  hope  deferred, 
Had  dawned  at  last  upon  the  earth, 

And  all  their  prayers  were  heard. 
With  strong  young  hearts  of  faith  and  love, 

Inspired  to  burning  zeal, 
They  blessed  the  speed  that  winged  them  on 

To  their  far  western  field. 

Like  one  of  old  who  left  his  home 

And  kin  nt  God's  command, 
They  knew  not  where  their  lot  might  be 

In  that  broad  western  land; 
But  He  who  calls  a  willing  heart. 

And  fills  it  with  His  grace, 
And  qualifies  for  special  work. 

Will  help  to  find  the  place. 

.;-  * 

T was HS/"  110  accident  or  chance, 

As  we  sat  waiting  there, 
A  stranger  came,'1'  and  by  his  side 

A  youthful  lady  fair. 

*  Rev.  K.  ('.  Moodie  supplied  the  pulpit  from  the  day  the  rlmreh  \va.so: 
aimed.    He  was  ordained  and  installed  Nov.  X,  1881. 


We  knew  not  then,  nor  did  they  know, 

As  Ave  both  know  to-day, 
Their  coining  answered  all  our  prayer, 

How  glad!  Thev  came  to  stay. 

Since  that,  to  us,  eventful  day, 

Three  years  have  passed  in  peace; 
The  Lord  has  crowned  our  feeble  work 

"With  eomforting^inerease. 
The  little  band  of  twenty-three, 

We  count  by  scores  to-day; 
Three  score  and  ten  are  on  the  roll, 

And  some  have  moved  away. 

One  precious  name  AVC  cherish  still, 

Though  it  is  claimed  above; 
Death  can  not  break  the  golden  chain, 

The  bond  of  Christian  IOATC.  t 
Like  some  sweet  flower,  plucked  at  noon. 

And  carried  to  the  skies, 
We  miss  the  form,  but  in  our  hearts 

The  fragrance  never  die-;. 

With  grateful  hearts  we  look  to-day 

Back  to  our  infant  days, 
"When  Ave  were  few,  and  weak  and  poor, 

And  little  knew  the  ways 
A  church  could  rise  from  such  small  means 

t  Mrs.  W.  \V.  Dull  dietl  June  28,  l«x:}. 


THE    8TOHY    OF    A    SELL. 


And  all  its  wants  be  fed; 
But  we  had  faith  in  barley  loaves 
When  Jesus  breaks  the  bread. 

The  pioneer  must  build  a  tent 

A  chapel  it  may  be 
While  Hiram  gets  the  cedars  out 

And  brings  them  by  the  sea. 
A  house  to  serve  the  future  years, 

Costs  i'.mG  as  well  as  gold- 
It  took  the  wise  man  seven  years 

To  build  his  house,  we're  told. 

Our  little  chapel  we've  outgrown; 

It  served  our  purpose  well. 
Now  friends  if  you  will  build  the  church, 

I'll  try  to  raise  the  bell, 
Whose  every  note  may  be  a  call 

To  him  who  came  to  save, 
When  this  poor,  lisping,  stammering  tongue 

Lies  silent  in  the  grave." 


PART   III,-'- 

LL  the  long  bright  days  of  summer 
My  poor  bark  was  ill  at  ease; 

Like  the  ebb  and  flow  of  ocean, 
I  had  wrestled  with  disease. 

"Written  in   March,  lxsr>. 


THE    STORY    OF   A     J1ELL. 


Sometimes  out  among  the  sunbeams, 

Tasting  sweetness  in  the  air; 
Sometimes  plunged  beneath  the  shado 
With  no  comfort  anywhere. 

AVhen  the  summer  days  grew  shorter 

Autumn  came  with  sober  mien, 
With  its  wealth  of  golden  sunshine, 

Ripening  fruit  and  waving  grain; 
"But  to  me  it  brought  no  healing, 

As  I  drooped  from  place  to  place, 
Seeking  strength,  but  finding  weaknes 

While  worse  symptom*  grew  apaeo, 


All  tlit'st1  day*  of  cloud  und  sunshine 

On  my  heart  it  burden  lay, 
Sometimes  light  and  sometimes  heavy, 

With  the  light  and  shadows  play. 
In  my  zeal  to  aid  my  brethren, 

And  the  sacred  cause  as  well, 
I  had  made  a  hasty  promise 

That  I'd  try  to  raise  a  bell. 

Was  it  rashness  or  presumption 

Prompting  this  bold  word  to  speak, 

Since  I  knew  my  purse  was  empty, 
And,  perhaps,  my  credit  weak. 

Yet,  somehow,  this  new  dilemma 
Brought  more  happiness  than  pain, 


Till-:    HTt)RY    OF    A     HELL. 


S  >  I  set  myself  to  planning 
How  to  make  all  right  again. 

T  was  now  a  weary  prisoner 

In  my  chamber  neat  aiul  bright. 
Two  large  windows  to  the  southward 

For  the  noontide's  sun  and  light. 
One  looked  eastward  to  the  rising, 

One  toward  the  setting  snn, 
And  what  loving  hearts  could  bring  me 

Was,  I  knew,  most  gladly  done. 

Sometimes,  when  the  snn  was  brightest, 

And  iny  brain  was  brightest  too. 
With  my  paper  in  the  sunshine 

I  could  sit  to  write  a  few 
Crooked  lines  I  called  my  letters 

To  my  friend*  both  east  and  west, 
Telling  all  about  my  interest 

In  the  church  I  loved  the  best. 

Oh,  the  charm  of  human  friendship, 

Christian  sympathy  and  love; 
How  it  lightens  all  our  burdens 

With  a  joy  like  that  above. 
Struggling  through  my  pain  and  blindness, 

Bungling  work  I  made  that  way, 
lint  kind  answers  came  bsguiling 

Many  a  long  and  weary  day. 


THE    NTOKY     OF    A     KELL. 


Still,  to  aid  me  in  my  effort, 

I  enclosed  a  simple  rhyme 
I  had  written  for  our  people 

At  their  last  good  annual  timo. 
Though  the  hand  was  weak  and  trembling, 

And  the  harp  unstrung  and  wrong, 
Some  sweet  chord  brought  quick  responses 

To  the  burden  of  my  song. 

Northward,  far  as  Walla  Walla, 

Came  the  messages  of  love; 
Southward,  from  the  "Angel  city," 

Nestled  in  her  orange  grove; 
Eastward,  from  the  broad  Atlantic, 

From  the  rugged  coast  of  Maine — 
From  the  mountains  and  the  valleys, 

And  the  cities  of  the  plain. 

Far  across  the  broad  Pacitic, 

Far  beyond  the  tropic's  land, 
From  another  Mount  of  Olives, 

Looking  o'er  New  Zealand's  strand ; 
From  a  home  near  Auckland  City, 

Looking  out  upon  the  sea, 
Came  a  letter  richly  freighted 

With  good  words  of  cheer  for  me. 

Not  kinds  words  alone,  but  money, 
Proving  sympathy  rincere — 


'  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


THE    KTORY    OF    A    BELL 


Timely  aid  in  my  dilemma, 

How  to  Ijeep  my  conscience  clear. 

IteUs  are  bells,  and  cost  much  money— 
Where  to  find  it  who  could  tell  ? 

Did  you  over  hear  such  story— 
How  a  poor  man  raised  a  "bell  ? 

Now  the  pretty  foothill  beauty 

Adds  a  jewel  to  her  crown— 
"(Ipward  points  another  Bteeple, 

Calling  Heaven's  blessings  down; 
well  poised  up  in  the  belfry 

Hangs  my  «we3t4oiigued  Blymycv  Ml, 
'5Juy  it  hang  and  ring  for  ages, 

No  uncertain  smtnd  to  trll, 

Now  the  pleasant  task  is  finished, 

Now  the  burden's  laid  aside — 
Thanks  to  Thee,  O,  God,  the  Giver, 

For  the  strength  Thy  grace  supplied. 
May  Thy  blessing  rest  upon  it, 

And  on  all  who  placed  it  there; 
And  on  all  who  hear  and  heed  it 

While  it  calls  to  praise  and  prayer. 


'A  TOR  }' 


Bediccil'onj    if  i]  inn, 


TUNE — Axmon.* 

LMIGHTY  God,  each  heart  inspire 

With  gratitude  and  love, 
That  all  our  songs  of  praise  this  day 

May  be  like  those  above. 

We  come  with 'grateful  hearts  to  briny 

A  tribute  tj  Thy  shrine, 
Though  all  we  have  to  give  or  keep 

Most  sacredly  is  Thine. 

The  trees  grew  on  the  mountain  slopes 
Fanned  by  the  western  sea; 

And  all  the  goodness  of  the  house 
We  gladly  trace  to  Thee. 

Though  Heaven  itself  cannot  contain 
Thy  glory  and  Thy  grace, 

In  wondrous  condescension  make 
This  house  Thy  dwelling  place. 

It  is  the  gift  of  many  hearts. 
The  work  of  many  hands; 

It  is  the  child  of  many  prayers. 
Accept  it  as  it  stands. 

.Sunj,r  at  the-  dedication  of  the  church,  May  :;,  1SS5. 


I)  FA)  1C  A  TOR  1 '    II Y  MX. 


Here  let  Thy  name  recorded  be, 

And  when  Thy  children  meet 
To  worship  in  this  sacred  place, 

()  make  Thy  presence  sweet! 

When  here  Thy  servant  stands  between  . 

The  living  and  the  dead; 
Clothe  Thine  own  word  with  power  divine, 

That  all  Thy  saints  be  fed: 

That  from  these  courts  a  stream  may  fl  nv, 

To  gladden  all  the  land, 
And  many  weary  wandering  feet, 

Be  turned  to  Thv  ri.^ht  hand. 


LOS    (1ATO&.  1ft 


f  HERE'S  a  cosy  little  village, ":  , 
Half  hidden  in  the  woods, 
*   Where  the  murmuring  Los  Gratos, 

Pours  down  its  crystal  floods 
Through  the  wild  and  rocky  canyon 

That  cleaves  the  mountain  high, 
That  bounds  the^iYdrest  valley 
Beneath  our  western  sky. 

This  lovely  little  village 

Hath  charms  beyond  compare, 
Of  wild,  romantic  beauty, 

And  cultured  gardens  fair; 
For  herethe  wooded  mountains, 

The  valley  orchards  meet, 
And  the  oak  trees  and  the  orange 

Shake  hands  across  the  street. 

There's  an  air  of  careless  beauty, 
That  runs  through  all  the  town; 

The  streets  go  rambling  where  they  please, 
With  sidewalks  up  and  down ; 

Some  homes  have  found  a  level  spot, 
To  put  on  city  airs, 

Written  in  June,  1,-tfl. 


20  LO8    GATOS, 

While  others  peep  from  shady 
Above  a  flight  uf  stairs. 


There  are  viewo  of  matchless  beauty. 

From  every  cottage  flpoi<; 
The  mountains!  0,  the  mountains! 

And  the  valley's  painted  floor, 
Bedecked  Svith  homes  and  hamlets,  ?^s 

It  northward  fades  away, 
Till  its  wheat  fields,  groves  and  gardens,, 

KJSH  the  waters  of  the  bay. 

Far  up  across  the  canyon, 

O'er  ihc  summit  bold  and  high, 
There's  a  fringe  of  noble  redwoods, 

Against  the  western  sky; 
While  far  eastward .  o'er  the  valleyt 

Mount  Hamilton  is  seen, 
With  the  Garden  City  nestling 

In  the  lovely  vale  between. 

But  for  scenes  of  rarest  beauty, 

You  need  not  look  away 
To  the  distantu'hain  of  mountains 

That  circles  half  the  bay; 
Nor  yet  to  the  lofty  summit 

That  overlooks  the  sea, 
That  casts  its  evening^hadow 

Across  our  little  lea. 


LOH    GATO& 


Nor  yet  to  the  quiet  valley 

That  lies  beneath  your  i'eet, 
"With  its  fruitful  groves  and  gardens, 

And  fields  of  golden  wheat; 
There  are  gems  of  rural  beauty 

Just  round  about  the  town, 
So  pretty,  that  you  think  each  one 

The  loveliest  you  have  found. 

You  see  them  as  you  walk  the  street, 

You  see  them  from  the  hill, 
You  see  them  as  you  cross  the  bridge 

Above  the  old  stone  mill 
You  see  them  morning,  noon,  and  ev.v 

In  every  changing  light, 
But  oh !  how  picturesquely ! 

When  luna  crowns  the  night. 

But  this  modest  little  village 

By  the  babbling  water's  brink, 
Is  not  so  dull  and  idle 

As  a  passer-by  might  think; 
There's  quite  a  stir  of  business 

In  the  narrow,  crooked  street, 
Where  the  traffic  of  the  mountains 

And  the  valley  traders  meet. 

Huge  loads  of  wood  and  lumber 

Come  lumbering  down  the  grade; 
While  the  flying  train  goes  flashing 


22  JvO.V    (,'ATOX. 


Through  the  sunshine  and  the  shade; 
A  hum  of  wheels  in  motion 

Comes  up  from  the  old  stone  mill. 
All  hoary  with  age  and  flour, 

As  it  grinds  and  grinds  on  still. 

That  burst  of  merry  voices 

That  rings  out  on  the  breeze, 
Comes  out  from  the  village  school-house. 

Hid  somewhere  'mong  the  trees; 
Six  days  the  anvil  chorus 

Kings  out  upon  the  air, 
On  Sabbath  morn  one  single  bell 

Calls  sweetly  out  to  prayer. 

Of  all  religions  it  is  said, 

(I  mention  what  I  read) 
The  altar  aiid  the  temple  both, 

Do  shadow  forth  the  creed; 
But  tho  people  of  this  village, 

(To  lay  aside  all  jokes,) 
Are  not  a  set  of  Druids, 

Though  they  worship  under  oaks. 

O,  lovely,  rustic  beauty! 

With  all  thy  simple  ways, 
Let  not  the  tyrant  Fashion 

Cut  short  thy  happy  days; 
Preserve  with  stern  devotion 

The  beauty  God  has  given; 
'Twill  help  to  sweeten  earthly  toil 

And  point  the  road  to  Heaven. 


THIRTY-FIFTH    WKDDINU 


(E  fi  i  t  \\  ]  -f  iftTi     H)e99i  nc)     H  i  n  u  oc 


EAli  wife,  'tis  five  and  thirty  years 

Since  \on  and  I  were  wed; 
It  seems  not  half  so  long  to  me, 

Time  has  so  lightly  sped. 
Though  all  our  way  has  not  been  smooth, 

Our  day  not  always  bright, 
Yet  (rod  lias  tinged  our  darkest  clouds 

"With  His  own  loving  light. 

Most  of  the  friends  that  'round  us  stood 

That  lovely  April  day 
To  hear  our  vows  and  wish  us  joy 

From  earth  have  passed  away. 
But  nearer  still  Death's  shadows  came, 

As  we  passed  down  the  years — 
Four  little  graves,  laid  far  apart, 

Have  witness  borne  of  tears. 

One  after  one  our  cherished  plans 
Of  home  and  plenty  crowned 

Have  met  misfortune's  blighting  touch 
And  fallen  to  the  ground. 

And  yet,  somehow,  we've  got  along, 
Despite  our  useless  fears, 


24  THIRTY-FIFJ'H    WEDDING    ANNIVERSARY. 

For  God  has  led  us  side  by  side 
These  five  and  thirty  years. 

What  though  we've  had  some  stormy  days 

Our  hearts  are  happy  still, 
For  surely  in  the  checkered  past 

We've  had  more  good  than  ill. 
So,  not  one  mournful  chord  I'll  touch 

To  mar  our  joy  to-day, 
For  light,  you  know,  is  doubly  sweet 

As  darkness  rolls  away. 

While  struggling  through  life's  toilsome  way, 

It  oft  has  grieved  rny  heart 
That  one  endowed  with  gifts  so  rare 

Should  share  so  dull  a  part; 
Hut  genius  ne'er  can  be  suppressed, 

Though  humble  be  thy  lot; 
Such  taste  as  thine  can  almost  make 

A  palace  of  a  cot. 

Thus,  while  we've  drifted,  here  and  there. 

With  fortunes  good  or  bad, 
'Twas  thine  to  cheer  the  way  and  make 

The  best  of  what  we  had; 
And  well,  my  dear,  thou'st  done  thy  part 

In  every  trying  day, 
With  patience,  love,  and  taste  combined, 

To  smooth  life's  rugged  wav. 


THIRTY-FIFTH    WEDDING    A NXIVER8ARY. 

To  bear  ea?h  other's  griefs  and  cares 

Has  made  Our  burdens  light; 
To  share  each  others  happiness 

Has  made  our  joys  more  bright. 
Not  all  the  sweetest  flowers  of  earth 

Are  born  of  cloudless  skies; 
Full  many  a  gem  of  clouded  birth 

Shall  bloom  in  paradise. 

.    The  swreetest  lesson  we  have  learned, 

And  yet  are  learning  still, 
Is  just  to  leave  it  all  with  God, 

And  have  no  other  will; 
Accept  the  mission  of  our  lives. 

Our  prayer,  as  it  is  sent, 
"  (Jive  us  this  day  our  daily  bread," 
And  therewith  be  content. 

But  Time,  my  dear,  is  on  the  wing, 

Nor  would  we  stay  his  flight; 
The  shades  of  time  will  soon  be  lost 

In  God's  eternal  light; 
Then,  as  we  stand  before  His  face, 

O,  will  it  not  seem  good, 
To  hear  the  Master  say,  again, 

"  She  hath  done  what  she  could." 


2ii  TWILHjHT 


toil  of  the  day  was  ended, 

And  I  turned  for  a  little  rest, 
But  a  feeling  of  sadness  lingered, 

Like  a  pall  o'er  my  weary  breast; 
The  thought  that  my  lot  was  a  hard  OIK,' 

Came  up,  but  I  turned  it  aside, 
While  I  groped  in  the  dark  for  the  promise 

That  in  some  way  the  Lord  would  provide. 

With  burdens  so  great  and  so  many, 

And  the  strength  of  a  broken  reed, 
I  asked,  in  my  anguish  of  spirit, 

O.  how  can  a  mortal  succeed? 
I  knew  that  to  groan  was  not  manly, 

To  distrust,  I  knew  was  a  sin, 
Yet  still  the  dark  billow'  came  o'er  me 

With  naught  to  resist  it  within. 

O'erwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  my  weakness, 

I  ventured  to  lift  up  my  eyes, 
Through  the  mist  that  was  gathering  o'er  them, 

To  the  glorious  light  of  the  skies. 
The  sun  had  passed  over  the  summit, 

That  stands  by  the  western  main, 


TWILIGHT    Mi' SING.  27 


The  foothills,  all  draped  in  shadows, 

Stretched  out  like  a  veil  t'ward  the  plain. 

The  mountains  encircling  the  valley, 

Enrobed  in  their  purple  and  blue, 
Proclaimed  as  of  old  the  sweet  promise, 

That  God  to  His  people  is  true. 
k'His  righteousness  like  the  great  mountains, 

Came  down,  as  it  seemed,  from  the  hight 
Where  the  last  ray  of  daylight  lingers, 

And  the  dawning  first  heralds  the  light. 

In  silence  I  gazed  at  the  wonders 

Displayed  by  the  changing  light, 
As  the  earth  beneath  grew  darker, 

And  the  Heavens  above  more  bright, 
Till  filled  by  the  inspiration, 

As  upward  it  bore  me  along, 
The  pall  from  my  heart  was  lifted, 

And  iny  groaning  was  turned  to  a  song. 

Los  GATOS,  Cal.,  Nov.  5, 1881. 


28  GOIXV    BLIX1). 


>|HE  world  is  fading  from  my  sight  — 

Slow,  but  surely  away — 
And  all  that  God  has  made  so  bright 

Grows  dimmer  every  day. 
Not  but  the  fields  are  just  as  green, 

The  sky  above  as  bine, 
The  dimness  comes  to  me  alone, 

From  the  veil  I  see  them  through. 

This  veil — the  trace  of  pain  and  years 

On  this  poor  throbbing  brain — 
Shuts  out  the  beauty  of  the  world, 

Letting  its  shades  remain. 
The  smiles  and  frowns  of  friends  and  foes 

Are  all  the  same  to  me — 
I  miss  their  pleasure  and  their  pain 

Because  I  cannot  see. 

Thus,  blundering  on  my  lonesome  way, 

Though  in  a  crowded  street, 
I  scarce  can  tell  my  dearest  friends 

From  strangers  whom  I  meet. 
Yet,  in  the  busy  fray  of  life 

I  still  must  hold  a  place— 


JiLIXJ), 


The  doom  from  Eden  yet  enthrall^ 
The  toilers  of  our  race. 

Patience,  O,  weary,  troubled  heart, 

The  race  will  soon  be  run; 
The  shadows  gathering  o'er  thy  path 

Foretell  a  brighter  sun. 
Though  all  the  earth  grow-j  poor  and  dark 

The  eye  of  faith  grows  bright; 
God  is  the  portion  of  thy  heart— 

Thine  everlasting  light, 


Los  GATOP,  CnJ.,  Jan.  1, 


OUlt     OLD     OAK    TREK. 


tBitt    (M3   IDcifi    3hee. 


BOUT  a  thousand  years  ago, 

It  might  be  hundreds  less, 
For  when  we  can  not  know  a  thing 

We  only  have  to  guess; 
A  tiny  acorn  rattled  down 

From  some  old  tree  that  stood. 
About  a  thousand  years  ago, 

The  monarch  of  this  wood. 

The  tiny  acorn  rattled  down 

As  soft  the  south  wind  blew, 
To  find  a  leafy  hiding  place, 

From  which  this  old  oak  grew. 
But  how  it  grew,  or  why  it  grew, 

So  crooked,  rough,  and  low, 
It  has  no  tongue,  and  who  can  tell 

What  happened  long  ago? 

While  seated  'neath  thy  shade,  old  tree, 

Upon  my  rustic  chair, 
The  sea  breeze  rustling  through  thy  leaves 

Lifting  my  silvered  hair, 
I've  wondered  what  thy  past  could  tell, 

If  such  a  thing  might  be, 


OUR     OLfr     OAK    TREK. 


To  weave  a  sympathetic  chord 
Between  myself  and  tbee. 

Thy  low  bent  trunk,  deep  scarred  and  gnarled. 

Hears  record  of  the  past, 
Of  crushing  harm  from  other  trees, 

Or  tempests'  fearful  blast, 
Scat'ring  thy  beauty  to  the  winds 

Like  leaves  before  the  gale, 
-Leaving  a  living  monument 

To  tell  its  own  sad  tale. 

Thus  robbed  of  beauty,  form  and  grace, 

With  sprawling  head  bent  low, 
Thy  very  worthlessness  has  saved 

Thee  from  the  axman's  blow. 
No  woodman  ever  thought  thee  harm, 

So  thou  hast  held  the  field; 
>sot  one  straight  stick  of  four-foot  wood 

Thy  crooked  top  would  yield. 

Hnt  naught,  'tis  said,  was  made  in  vain, 

I  hop;*  the  doctrine  true; 
Some  grains  of  comfort  it  might  bring 

To  me  as  well  as  you, 
Despoiled  of  beauty,  not  of  life, 

A  mission  thou  wast  given; 
Some  humble  link  in  that  great  chain 

AVhich  binds  all  earth  to  Heaven, 


OUR   OLD   OAK  TR /•:/•:, 


AVas  it  with  every  passing  breeze 

To  sound  His  praise  abroad, 
TO  point  the  sluggish  heart  of  nmn 

Through  nature  up  to  Clod? 
TO  welcome  spring  with  buds  and  bloom, 

And  summer  with  her  sheaves; 
To  deck  the  graves  of  parting  years 

AVith  wreaths  of  russet  leaves  V 

To  welcome  to  thy  cooling  shade, 

Through  all  the  summer  days, 
The  meadow  lark,  thy  constant  friend, 

AVith  all  his  merry  lays  V 
To  welcome  to  thy  heart  of  oak, 

AArith  gnarly  hands  outspread, 
The  living  things  that  God  has  made. 

To  shelter,  board  and  bed  ? 

Twas  but  last  summer,  one  fair  day. 

A  wandering  swarm  of  bees 
Came  swooping  down  to  thy  low  top, 

Past  groves  of  finer  trees; 
In  thy  low,  rough,  unsightly  trunk. 

To  find  an  open  door, 
AVhere     scores    of    squirrels    had    raised   their 

broods, 
Five  hundred  years  before, 

Ah!  yes,  old  tree,  a  mission  thine, 
I  see  it  now  more  clear; 


A  lesson,  too,  it  brings  to  me, 

I  have  been  slow  to  hear  — 
That  scrubby  trees  should  be  content, 

And  faulty  men  as  well, 
To  take  what  comes,  and  till  their  niche, 

And  trv  to  do  it  well. 


LOSGATOB,CAL  ,  Mm-,  i/ 


S4  THE    Al'Tl'MX    TIME    HAS    COME. 


Bufimm   (Eiuie  JTa5  Conic, 


UST  merging  from  the  gloomy  vale 

That  timid  mortals  dread — 
Down  by  the  gate  that  stands  between 

The  living  and  the  dead — 
God's  sunshine  falls  upon  my  heart 

With  new  and  strange  delight, 
Because  the  time  has  been  so  long 

Since  I  enjoyed  its  light. 

When  last  I  saw  the  outside  world, 

And  breathed  the  fragrant  air, 
The  fields  were  dressed  in  living  green, 

And  all  the  world  was  fair. 
Now  from  my  chamber  window,  where 

A  prisoner  I  remain, 
I  see  the  autumn  time  has  come. 

With  all  its  sober  train. 

The  hills  and  dales  have  doffed  the  green 

For  autumn's  russet  gray, 
And  stubble  fields  look  brown  and  bare, 

And  dusty  as  the  way — 
The  broad  highway  that  leads  to  town, 

Traced  by  the  dusty  train, 


Tliat  follows  every  whirling  wheel, 
O'er  valley,  hill  and  plain. 

The  sturdy  oaks  that  spread  their  limbs 

Above  the  cottige  eaves, 
Mosui  sadly  as  the  aut'.nuu  winds 

Strip  off  their  withered  leaves. 
The  orchard  trees  look  poor  and  thin, 

As  picking-  time  goes  by, 
And  long-bent  limbs  rind  sweet  relief 

Against  the  azure  sky. 

The  vineyard,  too,  has  been  despoiled 

Of  summer's  clustered  gain; 
While  tangled  vines  and  faded  leaves 

Are  all  that  now  remain. 
The  luscious  grapes  of  many  hues, 

That  ripened  here  of  late, 
Have  found  a  pass.ige  to  the  East, 

Or  to  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  little  bird  that  haibd  the  dawn 

With  carols  low  and  sweet 
Has  left  its  haunts  about  the  house, 

A  restless  band  to  meet 
Of  kindred  birds  that  soar  away, 

Then  back  again  at  night. 
As  if  to  test  their  little  wings 

For  some  extended  flight. 


77/7-;     AUTUMN    TIMK    HAS     COM]-:. 

O'er  nil  tlie  landscape  far  and  near, 

Up  to  tli?  mountain's  crest, 
A  dreamy  haze  pervades  the  air. 

Suggestive  of  the  rent 
A  kindly  nature  grants  to  all 

Within  he;1  b;oad  do  n  tin  - 
A  rest,  a  sleep,  a  death,  a  grav^, 

Till  they  shall  rise  agAin. 

Yes,  while  1  at  the  winduw  sir, 

In  weakness  and  in  pain, 
To  see  the  autumn  time  lm<  come, 

With  all  its  sober  train. 
Responsive  from  my  heart  there  CM  me.-. 

A  note  of  sympathy; 
I,  too,  urn  in  tli 3  yellow  leaf  - 

Autumn  has  come  to  me. 

I  feel  it  i:i  my  trembling  frame, 

And  in  my  failing  sight, 
And  in  my  troach'rona  memory, 

That  fails  me  as  I  write. 
I  feel  it  as  I  long  for  rest, 
Beyond  all  mortal  oare  — 
My  yearning  for  s  >me  unknown  good 

That  seeks  relief  in  prayer. 

Great  God  of  nature  and  of  grace. 
I  would  look  up  to  Thee, 


i\t   My    win:. 


I  know  my  times  are  in  Thy  hand, 

And  all  my  destiny . 
Keep  this  declining  life  of  mine 

In  Thine  Almighty  hand, 
Then  I  shall  triumph  over  death, 

And  reach  the  better  land. 


JRmvm.su  KANTH,  Los  Gutos,  Cal..  < 


di 


e 


While  detained  hy  busim  ss  in  Cincinnati,  in  the  fall  of  1848,  I  wrote 
the  following  lines  to  my  wife  on  the  back  of  one  of  my  first  business 
card*.  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  lcain,not  long  since,  that  she  had 
carefully  preserved  this  card  anutiifr  her  sacred  relics. 

JAM  weary,  O,  how   weary. 
Of  the  city's  dust  and  din. 
'  Won  Id  that  I  could  fly  and  leave  it 

In  its  folly,  noise  and  sin, 
For  my  own  loved  little  cottage — 

For  my  own  bright  fireside — 
And  the  one  on  earth  the  dearest — 
Heaven's  </ift — mv  wife,  mv  bride. 


8 


\ES,  just  as  well  be  Kot  a:-ide, 

The  world  moves  Jill  thf>  same, 
Suns  rise  and  set,  moons  w.ix  and  i 

Regardless  of  my  name  — 
Whether  I  take  nn  active  part 

In  all  beneath  the  Him, 
Or  fold  my  hands  and  step  aside 

And  say  my  work  is  done. 

The  country,  too,  goes  on  as  if 

It  might  sustain  the  shock; 
The  ship  of  state  glides  smoothly  on 

Without  a  reef  or  iwk; 
The  State  elections  come  and  go 

Without  my  casting  voice  ; 
They  make  and  unmake  presidents 

Regardless  of  my  choice. 

The  wjrld  of  business  surges  on 

Along  the  lines  of  trade. 
And  stocks  go  up  and  storks  go  do 

Without  my  ken  or  aid. 
Xo  city  merchant  cares  to  know 

My  standing  at  the  banks; 


f  UNIVERSITY 

SET  .i,S7 /;/•:.     . 


No  board  of  traders,  high  or  low, 
Now  miss  me  from  their  ranks. 

Then  in  the  church — my  chosen  field 

Of  labor  and  delight, 
Where  once,  no  doubt,  I  thought  myself 

A  pillar  and  a  light  — 
They  manage  somehow  to  get  on 

Without  my  sage  advice  - 
Indeed  I  fear  they  scarcely  miss 

Me  from  their  councils  wise. 

My  place  so  near  the  pulpit  step, 

That  not  a  word  might  slip, 
To  get  the  blessed  gospel  news 

Warm  from  the  pastor's  lip, 
Has  been  so  long  by  others  tilled 

My  claim  has  passed  away; 
I'm  glad  that  in  the  upper  church 

They  go  not  out  for  aye. 

Then  in  the  home,  that  sacred  spot, 

The  last  stronghold  of  life, 
My  ruling  star  is  on  the  wane — 

I'm  boarding  with  my  wife. 
On  stormy  days  I  stay  within. 

And  lounge  about  at  ease; 
When  warm  and  tine  I  court  the  sun, 

Or  sit  beneath  the  trees. 


10 


I  take  110  hand  at  work  or  play, 

I  seldom  read  or  write. 
I'm  tired,  and  I  rest  all  day. 

Then  try  to  rest  at  night. 
Sometimes  I  ask  at  evening  tide, 

What  have  I  done  to-day  ? 
The  answer  comes,  with  some  regret — 

I've  passed  the  time  away. 

Ah,  yes!   I  see  I'm  set  aside, 

I  feel  it  every  day, 
The  world,  the  church,  the  social  ring, 

The  sober  and  the  gay, 
They  pass  me  by  without  concern, 

I'm  satisfied  'tis  so, 
Yet  with  my  joy  there's  some  regret 

That  I  am  letting  go. 


SARATOGA,  Cal.,  March  1,  is>i. 


(HI it co  Kcotc   cni3 


Y  three  score  years  and  ten.     How  strange! 

I  note  it  down  with  care; 
I  never  thought  to  live  so  long, 

Xor  was  it  in  my  prayer. 
But  God  is  good  and  kind  and  wise, 

And  doeth  all  things  well; 
But  why  this  life  should  be  so  long, 

I  think,  but  can  not  tell. 

If  I  were  well,  and  strung,  and  wise, 

And  qualified  to  stand 
Among  the  rulers  of  the  state, 

Or  tillers  of  the  land, 
Or  be  a  leader  in  some  scheme 

To  benefit  the  race, 
I  then  might  better  understand 

Why  I  should  have  a  place. 

But  this  poor,  weary,  idle  life. 

So  near  to  death  akin, 
Almost  as  helpless  as  a  child, 

"Without  its  charms  to  win; 
So  long  the  care  of  anxious  hearts, 

And  overburdened  hands, 


With  nau.o-ht  to  recompense  but  love, 
As  gratitude  demands. 

But  God  is  good,  and  kind  and  wise, 

And  doetli  all  things  well. 
We  may  not  understand  His  ways, 

Nor  all  His  wonders  tell, 
But  we  may  trust  Him  for  His  grace, 

Whose  mercies  are  so  great; 
For  they,  'tis  said,  do  also  serve, 

Who  only  stand  and  wait. 

Some  humble  mission  yet  may  be, 

My  portion  as  I  wait; 
The  grace  of  patience  it  may  be, 

How  best  to  illustrate. 
In  my  own  life,  that  all  may  see, 

The  power  of  grace  divine, 
To  cheer  and  comfort  Avitli  the  faith, 

That  smiles  at  life's  decline. 

Great  God,  possess  this  truant  heart, 

And  mould  it  to  Thy  will, 
That  this  poor  fragment  of  a  life, 

Be  Thine  more  fully  still. 
If  through  this  vale  Thy  rod  and  staff 

But  keep  me  in  the  way, 
There  shall  be  light  at  evening-time, 

More  perfect  than  the  day. 
SARATOGA,  CAL..  March  2-'),  ISSo. 


OX    THE    JM.YA'V     <>F    r.Ol'J.D I'.h'. 


tfie  ficmfb  of  Bcuf3« 


Boulder  City,  Colorado,  is  situated  near  the  mouth  of  theiamous 
Boulder  Canyon,  through  which  1J  mldor  Creek  tumbles  and.  foams 
down  from  the  snowy  rang.'  to  the  plains  on  which  the  city  stands. 
The  road  up  this  canyon  from  Boulder  to  the  mining  town  of  Caribou,  a 
distance  of  22  mil  es,  is  considered  one  of  the  wildest  and  most  picturesque 
In  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  on?  which  no  tourist  should  fail  to  see. 

While  resting  one  warm   day  on   some   roc-ks  under  a  willow  on  the 
feraks  of  the  stream  I  perpetrated  the  following  impromptu  lines: 

^tlie  "banks  of  Boulder, 
A  rock  to  rest  my  shoulder, 
I'll  sit  till  I  am  older. 

A.  minute — may  "be  two; 

To  hear  the  waters  prattle. 
To  hear  them  roar  and  rattle, 
As  on  they  dash  in  battle, 

'Gainst  voeks,  in  passing  through. 

I'd  like  t:.)  stay  some  longer, 
If  I  were  young  and  stronger, 
Or  if  my  time  was  longer — 
But  I  must  "bid  adieu. 

I'd  like  to  find  the  fountain , 
Away  up  in  the  mountain. 
That  sends  these  waters  nountin' 
Adown  from  Caribou. 

An,?.  18,  1877. 


WRITTEN    IX    A     L.-WFK    ALBUM'. 


ID  lit  fe 


n    n  a 


HAT  is  a  name?  a  single  word, 

That  word  we  love  most  dear! 
We  love  ourselves,  we  love  our  names., 
We  write  them  everywhere. 

Deep  rooted  in  the  human  heart, 

Perhaps  it  is  divine 
The  principle  which  makes  us  wish 

To  leave  our  names  behind. 

Like  flowers  that  bloom  in  early  spring-, 

That  bloom  but  for  a  day, 
So  we  are  passing-  one  by  one — 

We  live  and  pass  away. 

As  travelers  to  some  distant  clime, 

Far  over  life's  rough  sea; 
We  leave  our  mottoes  here  behind — 

Those  mottoes  are,  "  Remember  me/" 

Tis  this  that  wings  the  poets'  flight, 

O'er  fancy's  field  to  roam; 
'Tis  this  that  nerves  the  warrior  arms 

To  strike  for  friends  and  home. 

We  carve  them  in  the  solid  rock, 
We  mark  them  on  the  ground, 


It/.XKS     WRITTEN    J.\     A     LADY'K     ALllUJf. 

We  cut  them  on  the  forest  tree, 
We  see  them  all  around. 

And  lady,  in  this  book  of  thine, 
There's  many  a  cherished  name; 

I  know  them  not,  but  yet  I  know 
Their  object  was  the  same. 

Scattered  like  jewels  through  thy  book, 
They  these  inscriptions  gave, 

That  in  thy  memory  they  might  dwell, 
No  greater  boon  I  crave. 

13ut,  oh!  how  vain,  how  vain  the?  thought, 

To  cheat  Time  of  hisprty; 
No  monument  that  we  can  raise 

But  Time  will  sweep  away. 

.Fame,  wealth,  and  honor  are  but  sounds, 

That  soon  will  die  away; 
Rocks,  trees,  and  books,  and  marble  urns, 

Are  creatures  of  decay. 

One  book  alone  shall  stand  secure, 
When  Time  has  ceased  his  strife — 

.High  in  the  library  of  Heaven-- 
It  is, the  Book  of  Life. 

Oh!  lady,  may  thy  name  and  mine, 
And  all  the  names  recorded  here, 

When  this,  and  all  earth's  books  are  lost, 
In  the  Lamb's  Book  of  Life  appear. 

Ohio,  IS!.;. 


Y  sister's  grave,  my  sister's  grave. 

How  lone  and  still  it  lie:-} 
In  tlie  quiet  village  churchyard, 

Beneath  the  bantling  side:*. 
Exposed  to  wind  and  tempest, 

Without  a  tree  to  save, 
The  sunshine  and  the  shower 

Fall  011  my  sister's  grave. 

Ah,  well  do  I  remember, 

Can  I  forget  the  scene  ? 
In  early  spiing  we  made  it, 

Before  the  earth  was  green. 
We  gathered  all  around  it, 

Our  last  adieu  we  gave, 
And  many  bitter  tears  we  shed 

Upon  my  sister's  grave. 

Through  all  tha  months  of  summer 
I've  watched  the  hallowed  spot, 

And  on  the  Sabbath  evening 
Its  sacredness  I've  sought, 

But  not  with  drops  of  sorrow 
Its  long  green  grass  to  lave; 


MY    KINTEJV8    GRAVK. 


My  nearest  views  of  Heaven 
Were  from  my  sinter's  grave. 

Now  the  chilly  winds  of  autumn 

Moan  sadly  as  they  sweep 
Where  the  quiet  dead  are  resting, 

Unconscious  in  their  sleep, 
That  early  frosts  have  blighted 

The  covering  nature  gave; 
.But  spring  will  come  with  beauty 

To  deck  my  sister's  grave. 

The  loved  one  that  here  lieth, 

But  not  in  endless  sleep, 
Shall,  like  the  blighted  flowers 

That  o'er  her  bosom  weep, 
Arise  in  heavenly  beauty, 

Through  Him  who  came  to  save, 
'Tis  this  that  sheds  such  glory 

Around  my  sister's  grave. 

SIUXKY,  Ohio,  Nov.,  ]xr>. 


48  PARTlXd      \\'OR1>H. 


Patting 


"Written  when   incrr;isin»;  pains  seemed    to  xu »•<••< >st  dial  tile  end 
near.    May,  l«s.~. 

x|OMK,  my  wife,  sit  clone  beside  me, 

I  would  feel  thy  presence,  dear; 
For  who  knows  what  may  betide  me, 

AYlien  the  end  is  drawing  near. 
I  may  lose  my  speech  and  reason, 

If  the  fever  r.iges  high, 
And,  perhaps,  might  fail  to  tell  thee 

What  I  wish  before  I  die. 

Thanks  t">  Thee,  O,  Heavenly  Father, 

For  these  intervals  of  rest — 
Precious  hours  of  sweet  communing 

"With  dear  ones  I  love  the  best — 
Ere  the  pitcher  at  the  fountain 

May  in  broken  fragments  lay, 
Or  the  silver  cord  be  loosened 

From  the  clasp  of  mortal  clay. 

Years  ago,  when  we  were  younger, 
And  the  world  was  all  untried, 

How  we  loved  to  sit  in  council 
Over  plans  now  set  aside. 


PARTING    VfO&Dft,  4!) 

Now  we  linger  close  together — 

Nearer  yet,  each  heart  to  heart — 
Not  with  plans,  but  benedictions, 

Ere  the  time  has  come  to  part. 

Oh,  the  parting,  who  could  bear  it  V 

But  for  light  beyond  the  grave- 
Light  that  Jesus  brought  from  Heaven, 

When  he  came  the  world  to  save. 
Precious  hope  of  sweet  reunion 

With  the  loved  ones  here  and  there, 
How  it  gilds  our  human  sorrow 

With  a  joy  like  answered  prayer. 

One  by  one  our  friends  have  parted, 

Few  remain  of  all  we  knew 
In  the  homes  of  early  childhood, 

When  the  world  seemed  bright  and  new. 
But  we  fondly  hope  to  meet  them 

In  the  mansions  of  the  blest, 
'Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

Yes,  my  dear,  1  know  you'll  miss  me, 

I  have  been  so  long  thy  care; 
At  the  hearthstone  and  the  table 

There  will  be  a  vacant  chair, 
And  at  evening,  when  you  gather 

Close  around  the  mercy  seat, 


50 


God  will  know  how  much  you  miss  me, 
And  will  make  His  presence  sweet. 

Hut  I  would  not  have  you  carry 

Sorrow  with  you  day  by  day; 
(loci  is  love,  and  Heaven  before  you, 

While  the  Spirit  guides  the  way. 
Other  dear  ones  yet  are  with  you, 

Needing  still  your  cheerful  sway; 
Let  the  sunshine  of  your  presence 

Gladden  still  life's  toilsome  way. 

When  new  trials  overtake  you, 

And  life's  cares  press  sore  and  keen. 
And  the  world  seems  sad  and  lonely, 

With  110  one  on  whom  to  lean, 
Then  look  up  and  lean  on  Jesus, 

Who  has  promised  in  His  Word 
Many  precious,  special  blessings, 

For  such  hearts  so  deeply  stirred. 

When  with  me  these  scenes  are  ended, 

Fold  my  hands  upon  my  breast; 
Let  the  Elders  be  my  bearers, 

Softly  to  my  lowly  rest. 
Jesus  sweetened  earth  and  Heaven, 

And  the  tomb  through  which  He  passed, 
And  the  soul  that  sleeps  in  Jesus 

Shall  behold  His  face  at  last. 


PA  RTING     WOR  £>-V. 


Let  there  be  no  showy  pageant 
In  consigning  dust  to  dust; 

Let  my  casket  be  the  plainest— 
All  alike  will  fade  and  rust. 

I  would  have  no  costly  marble 
Tell  the  world  that  I  was  dead, 

While  the  dear  ones  left  behind  me 
Toiled  in  pain  for  daily  bread. 

In  your  heart  you  still  may  cherish 

All  that's  worthy  of  its  trust, 
But  my  failings— let  them  perish 

With  the  part  beneath  the  dust. 
At  the  morning  of  the  rising, 

Soul  and  body  to  unite, 
Not  one  trace  of  sin  or  weakness 

Then  shall  mar  the  vision  bright. 

One  sweet  thought  I  bid  you  cherish 

In  fond  memory's  sacred  shrine, 
I  could  never  fail  to  treasure 

All  thy  worth  to  me  and  mine. 
All  along  life's  checkered  pathway 

Thou  hast  been  my  faithful  dear; 
God  has  often  heard  me  say  it 

When  no  ear  but  His  could  hear. 

Life  to  us  has  been  a  battle — 
Fearful  odds  against  us,  too-  - 


52  PARTING   WORDS. 

Weakness,  sickness,  partial  blindness, 
With  disasters  not  a  few. 

But  the  Lord  has  been  our  Keeper 
Through  each  dark  and  stormy  night- 

Never  night  so  long  and  dreary 
But  it  had  its  dawning1  lie-lit. 


So  it  will  be  in  the  morning, 

When  the  clouds  have  passed  away ; 
Doubt  and  darkness  lost  forever 

In  that  bright,  eternal  day. 
Holy  Father,  safely  guide  us 

By  Thy  strong,  unerring  hand, 
One  united,  happy  family, 

In  Thy  presence  thus  to  stand. 


YB   ,'2017 


